LETTER XLVII.
TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON.
Hampshire.
MADAM,
As I was sitting last evening in my
study, a letter was handed me by a servant; upon
which I no sooner cast my eye, than I recognized,
with surprise, the hand and seal of my
once loved, but to me long lost Eliza! I opened
it hastily, and with still greater surprise, read
the contents!
You write with frankness. I shall answer in
the same manner.
On reviewing our former intercourse, be assured,
that I have not an accusing thought in
my heart. The regard which I felt for you
was tender and animated, but it was not of that
passionate kind which ends in death or despair.
It was governed by reason, and had a nobler
object in view, than mere sensual gratification.
It was excited by the appearance of excellent
qualities. Your conduct, at length, convinced
me it was misplaced, that you possessed not, in
reality, those charms which I had fondly ascribed
to you. They were inconsistent, I conceived,
with that artifice and dissimulation, of
which you strove to render me the dupe. But
thank heaven, the snare was broken. My eyes
were opened to discover your folly; and my
heart, engaged, as it was, exerted resolution and
strength to burst asunder the chain by which
you held me enslaved, and to affert the rights
of an injured man.
The parting scene, you remember. I reluctantly
bade you adieu. I tore myself from you,
determined to eradicate your idea from my
breast! long and severe was the struggle. I
at last vanquished, as I thought, every tender
passion of my soul, (for they all centered in you)
and resigned myself to my God, and my duty;
devoting those affections to friendship, which
had been disappointed in love. But they are
again called into exercise. The virtuous, the
amiable, the accomplished Maria Selby possesses
my entire confidence and esteem; and I trust
I am not deceived, when I think her highly deserving
of both. With her I expect soon to be
united in the most sacred and endearing of human
relations; with her to pass my future days
in serenity and peace.
Your letter, therefore, came too late; were
there no other obstacle to the renewal of our
connection. I hope at the close of life, when
we take a retrospect of the past, that neither
of us shall have reason to regret our separation.
Permit me to add, that for your own sake,
and for the sake of your ever valued friends, I
sincerely rejoice that your mind has regained
its native strength and beauty; that you have
emerged from the shade of fanciful vanity. For
although to adopt your own phrase, I cease to
style myself your lover, among the number of
your friends, I am happy to be reckoned. As
such, let me conjure you, by all that is dear and
desirable, both in this life, and another, to adhere,
with undeviating exactness, to the path
of rectitude and innocence; and to improve
the noble talents, which heaven has liberally
bestowed upon you, in rendering yourself amiable,
and useful to your friends. Thus will
you secure your own, while you promote the
happiness of all around you.
I shall ever cherish sentiments of kindness
towards you, and with gratitude remember
your condescension, in the testimony of regard,
which you have given me in your last letter.
I hope soon to hear that your heart and
hand are bestowed on some worthy man, who
deserves the happiness you are formed to communicate.
Whatever we may have called errors,
will, on my part, be for ever buried in oblivion;
and for your own peace of mind, I entreat
you to forget that any idea of a connection
between us ever existed.
I shall always rejoice at the news of your
welfare, and my ardent prayers will daily arise
for your temporal and eternal felicity.
I am, &c.
